


Sign Here

by IAmANonnieMouse



Series: Sign Here [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Crack, Eames is a little shit, Humor, I don't even know okay?, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 16:55:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10312847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: "Congratulations, love. You just sold your soul to the Devil."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cyanure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanure/gifts).



> I was texting [malfunctioningtotem](http://malfunctioningtotem.tumblr.com/) today, and our texts turned into, well, I take it back, our texts were going as they usually do. But at one point this happened:
> 
>  
> 
> _SIGN IT*_  
>  _* sell your soul to the Devil **TM**_  
>  _IT'S TOO LATE TO GO BACK NOW_  
>  _YOUR S O U L I S M I N E N O W *evil laugh*_
> 
>  
> 
> _That teaches me to sign stuff without asking my friend what Im signing_  
>  _*put-out sigh*_  
>  _This is so inconvenient_
> 
>  
> 
> And I thought it was fic worthy. So I wrote a fic.

“Congratulations, love,” Eames says. “You just sold your soul to the Devil.”

Arthur sighs and looks at Eames. “Look, I signed your damned paper, can you let me get back to my work now?”

Eames smirks and waves the paper at Arthur. “Yes, thank you, darling. Your soul belongs to the Devil now.”

Arthur leans back in his chair and rolls his eyes. “Well, damn. That is so inconvenient.”

Eames hesitates, face frozen between a smile and a frown. _“Inconvenient?”_ he echoes.

“Yeah.” Arthur waves a hand towards the reams of paper on his desk. “I’ve got a lot of research to do. Is this going to get in the way?”

“Your soul is trapped for eternity,” Eames says, “and it’s _inconvenient._ ”

Arthur shakes his head and turns back to his work. “Goodbye, Eames.”

Eames sighs but walks away, and Arthur forces himself to focus on the mark’s tax returns instead of contracts with the Devil.

He doesn’t realize how late it’s gotten until Eames nudges him gently and says, “Time for sleep, darling.”

He glances up. Everyone else has left. It’s almost completely dark outside the windows. “Oh,” he says. “Sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“You never do,” Eames says, smiling. “That’s what you have me for. Come on, love. Sleepy time.”

Arthur rolls his tired eyes and shrugs on his coat. “Okay. Sleepy time.”

They head back to their apartment—this job was so close it seemed silly to rent a hotel room—and get ready for bed after Eames cajoles Arthur into eating some toast.

“You’ve got to take better care of yourself, darling,” Eames says, wrapping his arms around Arthur and pressing his nose to the back of Arthur’s neck.

“No,” Arthur says. “That’s what I have you for.”

Eames chuckles.

They’re starting to drift off when the skin on the back of Arthur’s neck tingles. He cracks open an eye and stiffens at the sight of a figure in their room.

“Eames,” he says.

Eames stirs, then freezes. “What the hell,” he breathes.

The figure steps closer. It’s completely covered in billowy black fabric, and it’s carrying a scythe that looks frighteningly real.

“Eames,” Arthur spits, “this isn’t fucking funny.”

“I didn’t do this,” Eames says. “I swear, Arthur. I have no idea what’s going on.”

The figure raises a long-fingered hand and points at Arthur. _“Your soul is mine now,”_ it hisses, and then it laughs, low and grating, like stones rubbing against each other.

Arthur reaches for the gun under his pillow, but then he blinks and the figure is gone.

“What,” he says.

He sits up and turns on the light. There’s no creepy person in sight.

“Eames,” he says, “what the fuck was that?”

Eames shakes his head, squinting in the light. “I have no bloody idea.”

“What the hell did I sign today?”

“Just a stupid paper I typed up. ‘I, Frederick Arthur Williams, do solemnly swear,’ blah, blah, blah.”

Arthur turns to him. “I solemnly swear _what,_ Eames?”

Eames hesitates. “To serve the Grim Reaper for all eternity in the event of my death?” he offers.

“Eames,” Arthur says. “You wrote me a fucking contract with the devil?”

“It wasn’t real!” Eames protests.

Arthur gestures at the space where the figure had been standing. “Obviously it was!” Arthur runs his hands through his hair. “Fuck, we’ve had the fucking _devil_ in our apartment. Eames, we talked about this!”

Eames raises his hands. “Look, I haven’t used those Tarot cards in years, love.”

“The devil,” Arthur groans. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

He looks Eames in the eye. “Write up another one.”

“What?” Eames asks.

“Write another one,” Arthur repeats. “And sign it.” He points accusingly at Eames. “If I have to do this, you’re suffering with me.”

Eames sighs and gets out of bed. He returns with his laptop, speaking as he types. “I, Rupert Charles Eames, do solemnly swear…”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr!](http://iamanonniemouse.tumblr.com/)


End file.
